Yes, Your Majesty
by Nicholas de Vilance
Summary: /Inspired by a songfic written by the lovely Brumeier/ Before Alice, Hatter was pretty much...sexually frustrated. lol, sucky summary. /HatterCarlotta, pres-series/
1. Yes, Your Majesty

Nicholas: Inspired by a songfic by Brumeier because she's awesome. I'm not actually sure how this came from that fic, if not the sensuality between Hatter and a woman-in this case Carlotta. But yeah, I hope I didn't make a completely "dog's breakfast" of this, to quote the wise words of Sir James Lester, lol.

Disclaimer: I'm not that crazy. I'm only this crazy. That? That's all them.

Rating: T...mild language, adult undertones, kinky undertones, madness, Hatter.

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"Yes! Your Majesty!" Hatter laughed to himself, spinning his hat on and off his head, "'Bow as you think, Good Sir! It saves Time.' You stupid cow! Time doesn't want to be saved! He could care less to be used, wasted, stopped or ignored, let alone saved!" Stumbling over the flowers of his office and past the couch, he laughed a little bit more.

The woman was still here. Not "Your Majesty," good heavens no! There would be a world-wide incident if all those things he'd done last night had been done with Queen Bitch. Standing in the doorway to the bedroom, bare toes curling in the grass, was the woman that _those things_ had indeed been done with. Wonderful things they were, as well. She was beautiful, in that conventional way—it was such that she wasn't spectacular in any physical sense: miles of wavy blond hair, full red lips, big gold eyes, and underneath that thin, skimpy, satin robe, endlessness of supple, luscious flesh. With a hand propped on her hip and long lashes hooded over her twinkling eyes, she seemed almost predatory.

"So…" she began, lovely voice drawing him closer. "How did it go?"

"Oh, lovely," he reported, sarcasm and levity clashing. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed his hat very precisely on the rack next to his clear-door wardrobe. "They've done it again, miserable songbirds. They've snagged a new wonder. A brand new tea for me to poison you good people with."

"Really?"

"Yes, that _marvelous_ economy of our has discovered all sorts of innovative, more depraved ways to use and torture and destroy those innocent creatures to satisfy the blood-hungry monsters we call consumers. Progress, I suppose." He stopped his advance directly in front of her and planted both of his hands on both sides of the door frame. It was obvious that he grouped her in this group, by the almost accusing way that he looked at her—still amused, though he may have been. As far as he was concerned, she was a glorious sexual being along with a rabid, insatiable tea-head.

A smile drew those dark, painted lips over pearl-white fangs. "What would the Queen do to you if she found out that you're a dirty Oyster-sympathizer?" She leaned up and nipped sharply at his jaw, making him hiss.

"I'm dirty, am I?"

"Absolutely filthy," she maintained firmly, mock disgust and reprimand coloring her tone all shades of seductive. She reached up a hand and stroked it down over the sleeve on his right arm. When she felt the shivers from her touch, her eyes narrowed.

"Oi, Carlotta…" he sighed, "You're going to be the death of me."

Running her fingers up his chest and shoulders to slide his coat off, she gripped his tie and pulled him down into a kiss. "Maybe that's the idea," she breathed before sneaking her tongue past his teeth.

His morning had started out fairly dreadful; tea-heads getting rowdy, Dormie's blasted narcolepsy interfering with the announcements, and suits summoning him to the Heart's Casino at gunpoint—because that's so much easier than just saying "Hey, Queen wants you." Then, he had a verbal lashing from His Majesty Can't Say Boo to His Wife about inventory records and consumer satisfaction reports. Afterward, he was honored with an audience with Her Majesty Manipulative Psychopath during which she had pretty much molested his brain with thoughts and images of his parents' deaths as some sort of reminder for him to behave. All the while, that creep, March, stood to the side of the throne room with that freaky smile on his freaky face. Needless to say, Hatter was feeling a few degrees mad on his way home. Usually, her kiss breathed the sanity right back into him—which was why he kept her around like this—but he knew that it would take a little bit more today.

"Are you busy?" she whispered against his lips.

For a moment, he figured that he probably had a good five hours of work to get done before the end of the day to keep Queen Bitch happy and then some contacts to…well, contact for supplies for the resistance so that he could stay on good terms with Dodo. However, he knew quite well that he wouldn't be able to focus on much more than treacle and tea cozies with his mind at this uncomfortable level of insanity, this out of control. He just looked at her, wondering at how he needed her, how addicted he was to her touch, her lips, her body, when he didn't even love her. With his powerful right hand, he tugged the neck of her robe open a bit more and smirked.

"Like I said: filthy," she feathered her fingers through his messy hair and yanked his tie off.

"I know, whatever will you do with me?"

Silently, she moved him, insistent grip on his hair not quite enough to hurt but more than sufficient to bring him willingly to his knees. His grin widened as he looked up at her, hand sliding smoothly up her thighs beneath the satin; his thumbs stroked gently into the bare flesh just beneath her hip bones.

"So eager to please, Hatter?" she teased him lightly.

His eyes went alight with mischief—or maybe madness—and he bared his teeth in a sly grin. One of these days, this silly mockery of a relationship they had needed to end; he needed to get over his dependence on her touch, her dominance. One of these days, he'd stop being so keen to go to bed with her. One of these days wasn't today. "Yes," he let his tongue slip out and dart across his lips, "…your majesty."


	2. When Your Beauty Fades My Darling

Nicholas: Because Brumeier is awesome. I felt like I needed to continue this but I couldn't think of anything. Sure enough, another of her songfics gave me the inspiration I needed. I'm not sure how-or even which one anymore ^_^-but I rather like how this turned out. This is assuming that the Queen had Hatter punished in the Truth Room, much like my fic First Time, without Mad March. Enjoy.

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"How is it?"

With a surprised lift to his eyebrow, Hatter stops unbuttoning his shirt and turns toward the voice at the door. He knows that honey-smooth, silky tone even with the foreign hint of actual concern laced in with the beautiful, enticing poison. The concussion makes him waver a bit, but he braces himself on the desk behind him and tries to focus his vision on Carlotta prowling to him with the feline grace of a lioness to her prey. His breathing is heavy and his entire body sore and crumpled. It has been a horrible day, enough to drive one mad…but Hatter isn't mad today.

"Oh, you know," he says, chuckling into his wince as the stretch sets a deep ache in his chest. "It only hurts when I…everything."

Suddenly, she was almost upon him, lifting her hands to pull his shirt out of the way. The touches are soft and careful over the countless burns and bruises that dot his torso; the lack of sex or seduction behind it just makes the whole situation more awkward. "What have they done to you?"

Hatter looks down at her, trying to read the expression on her face as something other than heartfelt, honest worry. He doesn't like that she cares; he doesn't like that she isn't here to do _those things_. Taking her hands in his, he holds them away from his body, grimacing at the tug on his aching muscles. He can't do this. He's either much too sane or much too hurt, but he just can_not_ have her here like this. Back in The Room, he'd considered things he might ask of her tonight—restraints maybe, or asphyxiation—to take his mind off the pain, off of what they were trying to make him think about. Those doctors. He shudders.

"Stop." It's quiet, subdued, almost a plea.

For a moment, she obeys. Hands limp in his grasp, she scans his face and leans in to get a good look at his eyes. What she sees there seems to enlighten her, puts a twisted expression on her face. "They've broken you." It isn't a question.

"What?"

Tugging her hands away, she steps back and considers him gently. "You're…you're different," she elaborates, awkwardly fiddling her hands, "I don't know what they did to you in there, but this is the…_sanest_ I have ever seen you."

He can't bring himself to laugh at that. "No need to insult me," he quips instead.

As she smiles, she looks saddened; her entire form is shrunk just a little—but enough that Hatter notices. She's so uncharacteristically uncertain, she is almost childish. Eyes averted, she sighs heavily before speaking. "I can't fix this, can I?"

There is little thought or hesitation in Hatter's response. "I don't imagine so, no."

She takes a moment to gather herself. It is almost as if she's lost a sense of purpose; she's lost all of her power and withered away from a ethereal, amazing, lovely creature into a regular, crumpled young woman. All of her magnificence and allure melts away and Hatter even begins to wonder how he thought of her as anything but average, standing in her somewhat modest, royal blue dress and dainty, little hat. When she finally looks up again, she is years older and a bit more than plain. "So there is no reason for me to stick around, then? That was all you needed me for?"

As he starts to shake his head—spare her a harsh dismissal—he stops and looks at her. It isn't fair to keep up the charade anymore, there isn't any point. He needs to stop lying to her. "No, I guess not," he mutters, pressing his hand against his head where the throbbing ache was starting up again. "I don't love you."

"I know," she says. Some of her stature is back and her demeanor is starting to make a quick recovery. "It's been fun, though. Hasn't it?"

The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, tugging painfully at one of the cuts on his cheeks. "It's been…intense. Don't let me say that you aren't a very strong, dominating woman. Just what I needed some days, honest."

Carlotta grins, a little bit of warmth and glow coming back to her face. "Well, if you ever _need_ anything in the future," she states, leaning up to him, "you know where to find me." Up on her tip toes, she slips a hand carefully around the back of his neck and presses her lips to his just one last time. It's short and bittersweet, and when she pulls away, she doesn't feel any better. Against his mouth, she whispers, "Will you be alright?"

"Me?" His eyes are squeezed shut in pain, but he's still smiling. "Are you kidding? I'm always alright."


	3. Little Known Facts

Nicholas: Another fic inspired by Brumeier's songfics. I think this is becoming a 'verse. hope you like it. This isn't really in sequence with the first two, in essence it should take place first. This is when Carlotta and Hatter meet.

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A little known fact about the city of Wonderland is that there actually is a top. The buildings don't just go up and up on into forever; at about fifty stories give or take twenty ground levels, one can climb out onto the very top of it all and see the entire world. Or, you can look down, the way Hatter was that night. Wind-chilled and teary-eyed, the Hatter stood stiff as a board on the edge of the tallest building that he could find. His arms were sore from the climb and he feel like the entire world was stabbing him in the back. Almost angrily, but with every ounce of despair his heart could handle, he glared down…and down, and down until he could just see the blackness below.

It was his monthly appointment with the Queen, though he honestly couldn't say why she called it "monthly." Usually, she just sent her suits out to collect him at any random time she pleased no matter how busy or…preoccupied he might have been. Mad March himself came today, dragged Hatter away kicking and screaming with a knife against his throat from his parents' funeral. He didn't really care how damn strange it had looked, someone like him having a complete emotional breakdown without any tea-influence whatsoever. That was a special occasion. Even Queen Bitch couldn't pull him away from the very last time he would get to see his mum and dad…except that she could and she did. After it was her pompous, fat-ass, insane commands that had gotten them killed in the first place, no less.

A little known fact about Hatter: he loved his parents more than he loved himself. They were so awesome and determined, if a bit sloppy. That whole resistance business would have worked fine if Dad had just kept his mouth shut about it. Then, they would still be alive…to see Hatter continue to spit on their every belief by selling the staple to the empire they meant to overthrow.

He hated this. Every single aspect of this godforsaken empire could take a draft of arsenic-laced ecstasy for all he would bother to aid it…except he does, every day. He sells the goddamned teas and runs the house—in fact, according to Her Bitch'ness he's the best in the business. The thought isn't very comforting. On the contrary, it kind of makes him want to just jump and get it over with. As a tear fell from one eye, he stepped forward until just the edge of his heel was left on the platform, the rest of his boot hanging precariously over nothingness.

Never before had he felt so alone. He was still trying to come to grips with having such a heartache without being able to go home to his mother and have her make him hot tea and cookies. He already missed learning all those tricks from his father. Even his hat didn't feel the same. What he needed right at that moment was a hug…or a long drop with a short, bloody, broken stop.

"You aren't really going to do it, are you?" came a voice from behind him.

Without turning around, he knew who it was. He had never had the pleasure of a face-to-face, but a woman as feisty, strong, beautiful and uninhibited as Carlotta St. Delaware quickly made a reputation in the sort of circles that Hatter frequented. She also managed to distract him with her absolute overpowering femininity. "What do you mean?" he demanded, trying to hide the waver in his tone. He couldn't let go of his control, no one could see him like this. The whole display at the funeral—which Carlotta had attended as well—was bad enough without exacerbating things. "Just enjoying the view."

Suddenly, she was right behind him, quiet footsteps lost on the breeze. She put a hand on his shoulder and held rather firmly, the heat of her touch sending shivers over his skin. "I think you'll find the view even more breathtaking if you actually lift your head and look at it." Slim, warm fingers slid under his jaw in a soft caress, tilting his head back so that he was now looking out into the last rays of the sunset. "See?"

That was when the fear set in; the absolute terror at what he had just been about to do. No doubt Carlotta wasn't nearly as affected by the situation. It was a little known fact that Hatter always tended to feel things more intensely than normal people, and he really tried to keep it that way. A deep sigh of relief forced its way out of his chest and mingled with the pink and gold hues surrounding him. What the hell was he thinking? Before he knew it, tears were falling freely down his face and he just barely managed not to make any of those embarrassing whimper/sob noises. "Yes, thank you," he muttered politely, only monumentally aware that she was still touching him.

"I see you around the shop," she said conversationally. "I must say that you don't escape my attention. Would be a shame to lose you before I had a chance to _talk_." The way her hand slid down his chest from his shoulder said that she didn't really mean to talk. Hatter was pretty sure he was alright with that.

It occurred to Hatter that she was in the perfect position and that all it would take from her was one good shove and he'd be airborne. For a long moment, he mused that if she did, he wouldn't have to worry about doing it himself. Then, he remembered that he was being an idiot. Killing himself wasn't the answer any more than having himself killed was. He turned around quickly, spinning so that he remained tucked in the loop of her arms. There were still tears streaming down his cheeks and he was trembling a bit from the cold and the fear, but maintaining his badass, cold bossman image was rendered fairly moot at this point. Now, he just wanted her to wrap him up and make all of the pain go away.

"And what would we talk about?" he asked, voice still quite soft and tight.

"Just the proper things," she assured him with a sultry smirk that said she meant _nothing_ proper. "News, weather, teas. You would invite me to supper at yours and then show me how you use that _strong_ right hand that I hear so much about."

He looked at her, lost in the depth of her blue, blue eyes and the power of her wide, enticing grin. The whole scenario was ridiculous and probably more than a little dangerous. Based on recent events, he would willingly believe that he wasn't allowed to have any sort of personal relationship—friends, family…_other_. How was he to know if the Queen wouldn't kill Carlotta off just for speaking to him? Then again, that could have been his nerves talking; and it would be _so_ good to get rid of _those_ for a while. What better way? And why couldn't he indulge for once in his life? This seemed like as good a time as any to want to make himself feel better.

"Would you like to join me for supper?" he asked, finally managing to straighten and make his voice stop sounding like broken glass being scraped across a tea tray.

"And much more, I hope." Taking his hand, she back-stepped a ways to lead him slowly away from the edge of the roof with a coy, very pleased smile decorated her face. It was a little known fact that Hatter lost his virginity that night.


End file.
